Chillax, Iggy!
by too-much-romance
Summary: To England's dismay, he starts to see those nightmares coming true. But, if he'd close his eyes for a moment, he'd might realize it was worth it... Sequel to "Out of His Mind".
1. First Date: Double O

**Title **– Chillax, Iggy!

**Started **– ?

**Finished **– 12-6-10, Mon (9PM)

**Characters **– England, America

**Genre **– Romance/Suspense/Comedy (They're in pretty equal amounts! ~^o^~)

**Rating **– T for customary curses

Upfront Summary [the summary that shows up with all the other information before you click on to read the story] = To England's dismay, he starts to see those nightmares coming true. But, if he'd close his eyes for a moment, he might realize it was worth it... Sequel to "Out of His Mind".

**A/N **– Just like this story's prequel, "Out of His Mind", it was inspired by and uses a somewhat similar plot as** doodlebug18's** "You Could At Least Use Proper Grammar, Git" and **Innocence Has a Gun's** "Lucid" stories. To fully enjoy the plot of this story, it is recommended to read "YCALUPGG" first, then "Out of His Mind", and then "Lucid" before reading "Chillax, Iggy!" to avoid being spoiled and also get the joke. But that's just me. ^^ (And, yes, I'd TOTALLY read 3 stories just to get the fourth one. ;D I hate being thrown into a series without seeing the beginning first! Like Harry Potter! XO)

Just in case, here's a small key:

~(SceneChange/EndScene)~

"Dialogue"

_Thoughts/Emphasis/Whispering/Non-English/Songlyrics_

EMPHASIS/LOUD

Narration

'So-called'

**Disclaimer = I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia/APH. Hidekaz Himaruya does. If I did, I'd throw a tantrum until the animators add Germania's braid back. Because world strategy makes the nation, but braids make the man. Uh-huh.**

Well guys, this was a lot of fun to write so I hope it becomes fun to read too! Enjoy!~

~~~(CH1_Double O - First Date)~~~

~(Oblivious)~

A week after Alfred's fangasm over Kiku's new Zelda game, the world conference began.

It was just like any other conference really. France was giving a French-only speech, Austria was explaining to Germany why it was a bad idea to be friends with Italy which caused an argument between the two that was hard for Switzerland to ignore, but he was too busy glaring daggers at Russia anyway because his heart popped out of his chest and made a loud SPLAT next to Liechtenstein causing her to squeak and cling onto her big brother's arm, and because Switzerland 'dared' to lay eyes on Russia, Belarus hovered over him, glaring, holding REAL daggers in her hands and, despite Ukraine's crying, she just would _not_ chill!

…No…America would admit that he was wrong about this. It wasn't a regular conference until…

"IF WE ALL WORK TOGETHER, WE CAN STOP GLOBAL WARMING! FOR THE CHILDREN!" he shouted aloud only to be ignored by every country in the room, 'cept for one.

England sighed heavily, catching the hero's attention.

_Ah, shouldn't he be arguing with me and France by now?_ Yet he wasn't, and America started to look more into it.

There was a slightly irritated England with a slightly messier mound of hair on his head than usual. He was used to these arguments, America figured, because, well, they happened every day! And England would show everyone just how pissed he was for 'wasting his time' to the max. But today it seemed as if his mind was on other things. It was settled in the American's mind to find out exactly what they were.

England looked at him. Oh no, 'looked' was too blah a word. 'Gazed'? Too romantic. 'Stared'? Not strong enough. 'Glared'? Not _really_… Whatever. He wasn't one to argue about words. That was England's department. Maybe he was just resting his eyes on America while thinking about what was _really_ bothering him. Yep-yep-yeppers! That must be it! After all, the thing that was bothering Iggy couldn't POSSIBLY be caused by the Hero America!

~(Obsessed)~

A week after Arthur received Alfred's snog-begging text messages, the world conference began.

Today's meeting was especially important. The infamous frog was making a dreadfully long croak of a monologue in his own language, Austria was trying to convince that Kraut to break his bonds with North Italy which only resulted in a loud, aesthetic squabble, so loud in fact that their host Switzerland found himself reaching for his firearm, maybe to shroud the room in silence with a gun shot, but visibly hesitated when Liechtenstein gripped his arm due to Russia's heart splattering on the table beside her, without any preamble at all (he would tell him to clean up; not directly of course, he'd send a sorry soul with no purpose in life), so Switzerland instead settled for glaring daggers at the man while Belarus having sensed open contempt towards her dear elder brother appeared in a heartbeat over Switzerland holding visible daggers in her hands; Ukraine's pleas for a ceasefire went unheard.

…No…As much as England disliked the idea, one important routinely factor prevented this world conference from being jotted down in history. There was-

"IF WE ALL WORK TOGETHER, WE CAN STOP GLOBAL WARMING! FOR THE CHILDREN!" England heard as if on cue and sighed heavily.

That bumbling idiot of a free country America was obliviously shouting about his supremacy as if there was nothing special about their meeting today at all. After requesting so promptly to 'have his babies' via text, America had sent England another message saying that he 'blew his mind' and another that he would like to discuss this matter further during the world conference. Those nightmares England was having about the death of America, as slow and as painful they may be, were thoroughly neutralized by the country's pure…stupidity. Yes, that was exactly the word he was looking for. It didn't even require a quarter-second of England's cognition to match _that_ nation with _that_ trait. The two belonged with each other so much, they might as well have been married.

England lifted his head, his gaze happening upon the very country on his mind from across the table. This was when he was supposed to smirk madly at the American leaving him to wonder what the bloody hell he was grinning for. And if he couldn't bring himself to do that, then the least the Brit could do was chuckle at the idea of America wedding an intangible word (being given away by Webster's dictionary of course, pshaw), skip the reception, and drive away in a red Corvette into a photoshop'd sunset. But neither of the two occurred. Well, why the bloody hell not!-? He was sure he had given himself a sufficient reason to laugh at his former charge. So why couldn't England even smile at America?

~()~

**A/N** - Ah, yes, it's finally uploaded. XP It took quite a lot of debating whether or not to put these two chapters together, but in the end, well, as you can see, they ARE united. *fist pump* If I'm prodded enough about it with...review, then I'll add the next chapter up by next week. I wrote a lot in a fit of inspiration, see? ;D

If there are any questions, compliments, flames, and/or corrections, please inform me via review. Please and Thank Yous!

~TMRomance


	2. Pushing You Away

**A/N** - *sigh* Whatever, it's not like I've been reviewing or reading any stories as of late... *nods listlessly in **Grey**'s direction* I wouldn't be surprised if she'd already given up on me. Anyway, this is the only story I've got that I already have so many chapters written out and finalized so~ You know, might as well. XP

Please review this time people! How am I supposed to know what you liked about it if you just carelessly favorite it and not tell me a word! I KNOW to update, so don't tell me that! Please, give me some insight, a reason to continue! And _blah blah blah...!_ (^^;)

~~~(CH2_Pushing You Away)~~~

The meeting ended without reaching an agreement. What were they discussing anyway? Probably about world peace or something.

Anywhat, Alfred wanted to see Iggy. You see, Iggy, AKA England, AKA Arthur, AKA the serious policeman Alfred loved messing with, was acting a little strange during the meeting. Well, stranger than usual anyway. He wasn't at all focused on whatever it was they were talking about, and he wasn't arguing with him or France as an alternative either. It was just plain freaky.

Said normally-pissy-but-not-today country was packing his suitcase with important papers.

"Hey, Iggy!" Alfred called out to him as he approached the man. Arthur didn't take his eyes off the briefcase. "What's up?"

"Nothing in particular," he replied curtly.

"You seemed a bit off today."

"International issues tend to sway one's mood."

"It's not like that."

"Then what is it _like_ exactly?"

"Something's been bothering you, Iggy."

"I'm perfectly fine." His tone was harsher than he had intended.

"I can see that you're not. Tell me what's wrong." Alfred touched his shoulder familiarly and Arthur slammed the briefcase shut making Alfred take it back – along with his warmth.

"There is _nothing_ wrong!" he said, finally turning to look the taller male in the eyes, and regretting his words as soon as he did.

"Arthur…"

He studied the floor. "Stop wasting my time." With that face of his, whenever Alfred had made that face, the desire to give him everything he ever wanted and more always tripled.

The Englishman grabbed his suitcase and made his way out of the room, fearing that if he lingered, he would breakdown and spill all his secrets.

Alfred watched him. There was more to that statement, he knew. Arthur had said that in half a plea. It was one of those cliché pushing-away type of things. But for what? It HAD to be about him now, because if it wasn't, he would have told him what's up, in some form of sarcasm.

Arthur always seemed less 'tall' and 'untouchable' in Alfred's presence as opposed to the other personified countries, even those in the G8. Alfred would admit to be even a little spoiled of him in that sense.

So what did he do? There was no war or media involving his precious Hugh Laurie or Robert Pattinson, and he hadn't barged into his bathroom since last month. If the man was mad at the world, he would've shown _something_ to him and France.

Was it something in the past? No, that always had a 'grrr' feeling to it.

Did he make a new unwanted alliance? Did he have a hangover? Did he get a girlfriend? Did he get a _boyfriend_? Did alleged boyfriend's seeing dog bite him when they tried to kiss? Whose tops?

"You are thinking of war, Jones-san?"

"Huh?" By the mannerisms, it was Kiku Honda, the representative of Japan.

"You were making a kind of flushed, anxious face with such a grin, I thought you might be anticipating the results of war."

Screams for a faster end, the crashing of flesh, and bodily liquids being spilled. Oh, if Kiku only knew of the alternate plot rushing through the American's mind.

Alfred turned a bit to hide his expression.

"Oh, also," the Japanese began again, "I didn't get an answer for the last text message."

"Huh?" Alfred repeated. "I sent you like three."

"I didn't get them," he said, pulling out his top-of-the-line Droid phone to check his inbox again. Kiku showed the screen to the taller man; the last message read, 'Hai 3' referring to the number of times greater the new Zelda game was than Twilight Princess followed by the link to the article that raved about it.

Alfred, growing worried, fished out his equally high-tech iPhone and checked his inbox as well only to find that his last three messages were accidentally sent to the contact _above_ Kiku:

'Iggy'.

~()~

**A/N** - Uh... *scratches head* Yeah. I hope you liked it, I hope it gave you the kind of feeling you wanted or might have liked to feel... (Why do I get the feeling people are going to take that pervertedly?...)

Read and Review PLEASE! XO

~TMRomance


	3. A Prompt Visit

**A/N** - Uploaded in record time! :D Okay, not really. ;P Still, I told some friends that I'd update soon and I freaked out yesterday night because my internet stopped working and I thought of NOTHING else but reviewing **Grey**'s works and uploading the story (in that order) so...yeah. ^^; I know it's short, but that's just the way I space out my stories. Read and review, emphasis on REVIEW. If I was America, I'd underline that four times. (*chuckle* Inside joke.)

Well, yeah. Later guys, PLEASE give me feedback or *here's the threat* I won't update in a while. Hoooo~ Scary~

Tchyeah. (Why am I still typing?) I've got a tennis match to lose. Type to you guys later.

~~~(CH3_A Prompt Visit)~~~

"England!" America called, knocking on the door to his dorm room.

Dorms were reserved for every personified country in the Palace of Nations whenever they had their monthly world meeting but came too early or did not have an immediate plan for a ride home. England usually liked to stay out of his country one extra day or so to avoid jetlag before making Spain drop him off home. _He should still be here._

"England!" America said a bit louder, knocking harder too. "Hey! Open the damn door! E-n-gland! Answer me, fu-!"

BANG!

Frightened, America pressed his back against the door. After a couple of seconds, he turned his head to look at the source of the sound. Host Switzerland and his freaking revolver. He could just slap himself.

"Quiet down, won't you! Or I'll empty all the chambers in your chest." And with that, the Swiss man dusted the gunpowder off his clothes and walked past the major power.

America sighed in relief, resting a hand on the handle of the door. A hero could only take so much!

He shifted his weight to the other side and found himself tumbling on his back into England's dorm with a thud.

_Aaaah…It was OPEN…_

The country giggled before sitting up and cleaning his glasses with his T-shirt. A sound trickled into his ears. It was small, but audible. The kind of mysterious sound that screamed 'FIND ME!'. Slipping through the corridor, it got louder. It was a voice. America turned left and pressed an ear against the closest door where the beating of a shower could be heard, along with a familiar voice and tune.

"_Ahhh! What a nice world that can be drawn with pastels! A tube is transportation!_"

"_That's really him?~_" America finished to the melody quietly. He muffled his laughter and waltzed into the next room where a TV and remote called out to him. He'd just have to wait, he supposed…

~()~

**A/N** - Why do I always put an author's note in the beginning and the end?

Ummm... I really like making things take place in Switzerland's 'house' for some reason. ^-^ Dunno why. Just do. I don't think it's as barren and old-working as the Philippines, but not as chaotic as America... Some kind of calm in between. ^^ Oh, and don't know why I changed it to "pastels" instead of "paintbrush". Sounds like Iggy to me~ And the reason why Iggy is supposedly singing? Well! You'll find that out next time...if enough of you people review! *pout* Swear, on my Nejiten stories I'd put a minimum of reviews I reach before I upload and I've only gotten the amount ONCE. I asked for 5, then 4, then 3... *groan*

...I can see why **Grey** is annoyed. :(

REVIEW FOR THE LOVE OF GRAPES! XO

~TMRomance


	4. A Prompt Delivery

~~~(CH4_A Prompt Delivery)~~~

"_Hey hey Daddy, give me rum please. Hey hey Mammy, hey hey Mammy._" The singer made a pose as if he was holding an electric guitar. "_I can never forget the taste of the pudding I had before!_"

This was better. This made it easier. If he sang, as long as he sang, there could never be a terrifying silence. It was an embarrassing idea, but it worked more or less and the Briton was calm for most of the last two hours. Only that singing, or vocal activity in general, hurt over time. He briefly wondered if France ever got tired of his 'amour-filled' monologues.

Hmph.

Done with his shower, England wrapped a Britain-flag-adorned towel (courtesy of Switzerland's Palace Staff) around his waist and walked out the washroom feeling refreshed. Even with water in his ears, he would definitely know if a television was on in his room, right? No one else should be in his dorm but him, right? Ah… Well, if the bulge underneath the covers was any indication, England wasn't very observant today. He was spooked, but hell if he'd start singing again!

England removed his towel and winded it up before snapping it like a whip at the bulge, chuckling a little to himself at the probable pile of pillows' demise. At the fifth hit, _America_ popped out. "C-Cut it out! This isn't a Bacon and Eggs, you just wouldn't open the door, you prude!"

England however was too busy covering himself up while the American whined away in his defense. "B-Bacon and Eggs!-?" (It was the only _proper_ question he could let slip out.)

"Oh, you know, Breaking and Entering," he stated so matter-of-factly that England wanted to either, a; punch the man, or b; slap his own forehead, but he was much too conscious of his exposed skin to risk it.

"What on Earth are you doing in my place?" England asked, exasperated.

"Well, you know, technically it's Switzerland's seeing as it's his country and-"

"Why are you in- on my bed?" England demanded, going in another direction.

"It's comfy." There was a pause.

"The TV." There was a longer pause. "_Why_ is the TV-"

"I was bored!"

England shouted in frustration causing America to jump, startled, and the mattress to squeak and groan at the shifting weight.

"Whoa, chillax, Iggy!"

"I _will not_ 'chill-ax'," spat the Brit. "Why are you here in the dorm of the 'United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland' and hiding under the covers?-!" He was careful not to be vague.

"Well, this scary trailer came up and…" America didn't say any more.

"And?"

"Yeah?" America's eyes were pleading with him to not have him admit he, Alfred F. Jones, was afraid of some stupid yet effective movie commercial. (It was probably made in him too.)

"The other question too, Alfred." Oh no. Human name. He's pissed…

"We…We need to talk, Arthur." Alfred cursed himself for his wavering. His determination had went and left without a moment's notice.

"About what, hm?" Arthur said testily, crossing his arms in front of him now that the towel was secure. "My obvious disposition?"

Alfred looked up. No… Well, chyeah, it was tempting, but Iggy didn't have to know that he overhead him singing in the shower. "Your behavior…"

"It's _your_ behavior I should-"

"Let me finish!" The plea silenced him in an instant.

"Your behavior during and after the meeting today… What's bothering you, Arthur?" There was a _very_ long pause. "Arthur?"

Couldn't.

"…Nothing."

There was a very _very_ long pause.

"Then…"

_He's_ buying _that?..._

"…let's go out!"

Arthur's stare eventually softened on the American. He strode across the room, caring not for the loosening cloth, and bent over the man. His mouth was parted; strands of wet hair were still sticking to the outline of his face. His eyes were unreadable.

What was he going to do?

Soft fingers snaked their way around Alfred's neck. They were cold and made him shiver involuntarily. They toyed with his collar as his breathing faltered even more.

Then the light in Arthur's forest-green irises began to glow with something, his lips curling up into a smile.

_Oh…_

The playing stopped. Arthur gripped the collar hard and, in a move he was proud of, promptly through the American out the open window.

"Hey!" America sat up with a shell-shocked bird upon his head, strangling Nantucket violently. "I didn't mean, like, going steady or anything!"

Much to England's surprise, his foolish 'little brother' didn't land in the bustling traffic below but instead in the soft brush of a tree which had been located directly outside his window. It was sort of a letdown.

"Besides, it looks like you'd make a PSYCHO girlfriend-"

"Sod off, I KNEW what you _meant_! You were just so aggravating I couldn't bear to be in the same room with you any longer!"

"My ass! That was completely uncalled for!"

"I beg to differ!"

"I just wanted to get something to eat, Jesus! Like…"

"Relais de L'Entrecôte?"

"McDonald's!"

"…Well, whatever, you wanna go?"

England began to weigh the pros and cons as America stared at him impatiently and the bird plucked strands of hair to repair its nest. On one hand, he could leave the palace and view the country of Switzerland with a human shield on him. On the other hand, there was a strong chance England wouldn't be able to eat what he wanted to eat. Then again…

"You're paying, right?"

"Huh? Yeah, sure. I'm healthy."

Either way, America was paying for the meal; it was settled.

"Okay. I suppose it wouldn't _hurt_," England said with false nonchalance.

"Yippee!" America jumped up, his head almost connecting with a higher branch. The bird decided to fly away then. "Let's go! Hurry up and get dressed, Iggy-"

"Yes, yes, you twat…"

"-cuz I can see your 'Big Ben'!"

~()~

**A/N** - XD I love this chapter. Oh, but please, I want to know what you, the audience, thinks! :D

I was seriously hoping to get this uploaded LAST week, but...I'm volunteering at my elementary school for community service hours and those little hyperactive tykes "irritate my guts", as Prussia would say. -.-"

Well, ignore that, but please review! If you don't, I'll be like **Tomo Mizuki**'s Mini Belarus and come after you~

~TMRomance


	5. Afternoon Snack

**A/N** - Thanks for waiting this long, guys! Anyway, here's the next chappy. I really enjoyed imagining this one in my head, so I hope it's the same for you!

~~~(CH5_Afternoon Snack)~~~

"And I was all like, 'I don't care if you got MARRIED to Switzerland, I'm still gonna nuke ya!' And then he was like-"

"Why would I want to hear about your history when I was there for most of it?" groaned England, wanting to go home all of a sudden.

"Cuz I've always had to listen to YOUR shark tales-"

"Ship."

"-from the Middle Ages and crab like that. This is payback!"

And to that England raised an eloquent eyebrow, "So you admit you're annoying?"

America then decided to be as quiet as South Korea in the English/French Condom War and keep his mouth busy with a burger, a French fry, and a bendy straw simultaneously.

England sighed. _So close._ But it would have been an empty win anyway. He stared at the tea America had got him on the way to McDonald's – there was no separating the man from his favorites; it was similar to Japan's desires, but he wasn't as _aggravating_ – and sighed. If only it was that easy to enjoy a mid-afternoon hour, just a moment, with America. There were so many things on his mind. He couldn't just sit and read the newspaper, could he? (One reason being it'd probably be in a different language.) Could he look out the window and enjoy the Swiss atmosphere? Could he not think about the sun's descent, the inevitable fears to come, and those horrible, horrible nightmares?

Couldn't…Couldn't be done.

A piece of lettuce found its way into his tea. England pushed the drink away in disgust.

"Ergh, m- 'ey, Iggy? Wazzup?" America said with his mouth occupied.

"Nothing," he replied thoughtlessly.

America swallowed, "I know your nothings, Arthur."

_Great,_ the Brit thought, displeased with where this conversation was going. _Let's boil some water, Alfred. Just what I need; more suspicion from Sherlock Holmes's worst fan…_

"If that were true," Arthur began dubiously, "then what did that particular 'nothing' mean?"

Alfred stuck his index up in the air as if to say something intelligent. "It's something important to you. An important issue that disrupts your entire sound of mind. And although you believe an outside force can help you, you don't want to be saved cliché-ly. You'd rather fight it on your own terms than let someone else do it for you."

Well…lucky guess.

But Arthur stared blankly ahead. He didn't want him to confirm that he was right - exactly right - using the light in his eyes. Alfred would think him so pathetic then. A man wanting comfort from a couple bad dreams? That'd only sound cute on the tongue of a young American.

It'd be disgraceful regardless how terrible those dreams were. Bloody…

His thoughts started to drift back there, and no matter what else he tried to think of – beating up France and Spain, his gross dependent product, America the colony – shadowy images of locked doors and terrified expressions interrupted the happier memories every time.

Rushing back and forth in Alfred's house, pulling at the doors, wanting to break them down altogether and escape. An ominous shadow with a cheshire grin, strangling him – strangling Alfred – covering him in hot sticky blood. He wanted to throw up, but the monster held him firmly by the throat. It'd strangle him until he felt light in the head and shove a mirror in his face. It would grow and surround him until he wasn't sure who he was anymore. Reflecting in every mirror was not himself but Alfred with a painful expression and his body painted in sickening, dripping blood.

Arthur felt hands on him making him flinch, his flashback shattering – thankfully.

It was Alfred, and he was looking intently at him. With sorrowful eyes.

No.

Arthur looked down at the man's T-shirt. There was red where there shouldn't be; a deep crimson red sticking to the contours of his chest and staining his skin.

_No no no!_

"A…" Back to those pleading eyes. "Arthur."

The man jumped out of his seat, letting the American's hands slide off his shoulders and his face fall slightly. When Alfred lifted up his head, he locked eyes with a very frightened Brit.

MOOSH

"What the…?" Alfred straightened up from his leaned position and frowned. "Ah, Muk, look at what you made me do." Alfred grabbed some odd numbered amount of French fries, used them to wipe off the red substance, and ate them, causing Arthur's convulsion.

It was nothing more dramatic than a stained shirt of ketchup. It was also nothing more than Arthur's most ridiculous delusion. Now, he was _sure_ he couldn't lie to Alfred (and himself) with a mere 'nothing', regardless of tone. The young man saw his face, the Briton knew, and that explicit face could tell him half the story. The American, curious as he always had been, would 'create opportunities' to pry the other half from him resiliently.

And that is exactly what he did.

~()~

**A/N -** My sincerest apologies, honestly! XO Senior Year has begun and these first two weeks are waaaaay too hectic. I'm taking all medical classes and a tennis class and tennis after school to top it off. Plus, my school just became year-round so even though I'm half-a-minute's walk from the school lunchline from my class, I still have to run as soon as the bell rings to avoid the long lines! XP FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE, my brain is tired but my body _isn't_ (usually, I say to myself, "Sleeping is a waste of time; there's so many other things I could be doing right now!") and I don't think it helps that I'm taking all medical classes- oh no wait I mentioned that already. BAH! Why are you people still reading this?

Anywhat, I was kinda relunctant to update this chapter because, well, I'M RUNNING OUT OF ALREADY WRITTEN ONES! XO Seriously, I gotta work it!

Regardless, I am quite proud of this one. ^^ I think I got the audience to feel (basically) what I wanted to feel and I closed the scene just the way I originally wanted. :)

Who's marrying Switzerland? Well, I _do_ like SwissSushi...

America would TOTALLY use "crab" instead of "crap" in a public place..."Muk" too. XP Well, that's _my_ characterization of him anyway. XP

Also, I do admit that the "wanting to know about your history when I was there for most of it" part, the lettuce falling in tea part, and the "I know your nothings" are inspired from books and other fanfics that I've read. I mean, we all receive information from other sources right? Where would we be if we didn't learn from other people. ^^ So, please take this as flattery if you happen upon an aspect you feel originated from you (da ze). :D

Going, going, gone till I sort out my real life,

~TMRomance


	6. How hard is it to get wasted?

**A/N – **Hey, sorry for the lack of an update yesterday (10-26-2010) but I was really…unwell and spent my day sleeping off my impossible cold in a coma-like state. =.= Swear, I've never slept so much in my liiiiife… Anyway, despite this, I won't be updating TWO stories today; instead, I'll just upload once more Monday as opposed to updating lastly daily on Sunday. ^^

BUT! As a way to make up to my (suddenly increasing amount of) readers, the first person who reviews this chappy can request any one-shot APH story from me. ^^ Whatever genre, whatever pairing. You name it.

Well, let's see who gets it first! (Oh and if you don't want it, just…don't say anything. I'll wait for the next person or something. XP) Enjoy!

~~~(CH6_How hard is it to get wasted?)~~~

And that is exactly what he did.

America had excused himself for upsetting England with his 'horrible etiquette' and had walked him back to his dorm, despite England's insisting not to. And leaning on the doorframe with blue-as-the-sky eyes and sure smile that could not be denied, America had asked the man to another outing. Something in the Swiss National Park. A picnic maybe? Whatever it was, wherever it was, he found himself agreeing to come. It'd be around 'six-ish', America had said.

England wasn't sure what to do in that time. In fact, he had planned to disappear into thin air right after taking his shower. But his usual ride via Spanish Airlines had overslept and outright ditched the international meeting. It wasn't like England couldn't just take the soonest departing plane back to good ol' London; the only problem was the _soonest_ trip wouldn't be until tomorrow due to God's torture in the form of stormy weather.

England's room was fine as he could see. It was a lot better than the smaller nations' dorms (and Woodrow Wilson said that all countries could voice their complaints?), but he never lingered in Geneva for a reason. Switzerland had always been a bit careful with the G8, the super powers and what not, and that was smart. …But his distaste for them could be felt through the walls and England couldn't help wonder if Switzerland ever thought himself just as strong as some major powers or even more in that sense.

The Englishman left the building with those thoughts.

~()~

_How did I get here? Anybody? Not this street, I mean this _life.

England stared blankly, maybe even hungrily at the nervous-at-being-stared-at _pâtissière_ making crêpes through a restaurant window. England had been wandering through town trying to find a bar open but to no avail. It was too early and Switzerland was too…foreign. The restaurants and cafés he had stumbled upon offered only flimsy wine and goats' milk, and he certainly couldn't get drunk off of THAT. He wasn't like Italy…

He only wanted to get wasted to burn time. Thanks to that American git, making such a face at McDonald's, he was pissed (read: embarrassed) beyond belief and had to sulk around town and see sights of Switzerland he'd rather not see.

Like a woman making pies in her house. One would think it a pleasant sight, but England could translate the code like second nature. The Sainsbury packaging that the pies came in were under the table in plastic bags, the firm but gentle presses on the crust to make that nice crumbly effect as if taken out fresh from a conventional oven, and the distressed look on the woman's face, the creases on her brow. And to confirm everything was a pink flyer on the refrigerator door covered in smiles and, if one would squint, a plate of cookies framing the corners. She was trying to fake homemade pies for her child's school event because she didn't have the time to make it from scratch. The poor woman.

England remembered when he almost did that. America was only 10 years old, 5 years under his care, when he had visited. The last time, he promised pie. He had brought some from Europe, but were crushed due to an ignorant cargo loader. America always knew when England stepped foot on his soil and would come rushing out of the cottage to meet him at the port, so he had to sprint like a fool as soon as the ship docked to buy a pie in town. Needless to say, America had a panic attack and a very brief civil war thinking that some jealous townsfolk stole him away. England apologized for the mishap and took him home. Staring at the perfect pie inside the box, however, he found he couldn't do it and made his own quickly - but lovingly.

The nation sighed and smiled.

Maybe Switzerland wasn't so foreign after all. They spoke a lot more languages than his kind, but people were people.

When he reached the business area again, he grabbed some complementary cheese fondue and bread and devoured them to quiet his stomach before calling up a taxi. "_Je veux aller au parc national_," England said with English-accented lips. Fortunately, the girl knew the language, despite his monotone pronunciations, and began driving. She took him back the way he was walking. England saw the woman on her third pie, the crêpe chef spraying whip cream on her dish, the Palace of Nations…

It was getting darker, the traffic lights started to blur together, landmark buildings could not be identified. England's sleep-deprived brain tried to convince itself that this was completely okay. He would get to the park without hassle, so taking a nap would be fine. He'd get there and he'd be fine…

~()~

**A/N – **Gah, I'm running out of pre-written chapters…


	7. Hit Me With It One More Time

**A/N - Finished** - 12-6-10, Mon (9PM)

~~~(CH7_Hit Me With It One More Time)~~~

When Arthur's mind settled, he began to analyze the day's recent events: Woke up in taxi by blushing taxi-girl. Got out. Met Alfred. Had a lovely picnic. Forgot all about…

He was home. Probably. Events passed by so quickly, he couldn't help feeling dazed. Walked through corridor. Alfred!

Arthur turned to see him, and Alfred must've been surprised too to have that look on his face. He smiled so endearingly at his ex-colony and he did the same. Oh, could he help himself, really? Couldn't he let his façade of hating the man fall for just this moment?

Maybe…

"Hey, Alfred." He tried to say something at the same time. Arthur made a hand gesture to urge him to continue, but Alfred only copied. No, no, no. He said what _he_ wanted to say. Now it was _Alfred's_ turn. Conversational Skills 101, lad.

"Go on, Alfred." Words and mouth in perfect sync. Arthur looked down at his gloved hands. Since when had he worn them? Slowly, he looked back up. A glare of light. Arthur and Alfred lifted a trembling hand to touch his eyes. Glasses?

Bomber jacket, T-shirt, jeans.

This was a mirror. Arthur wasn't Arthur, Arthur was Alfred. And this wasn't Arthur's house, this was _his_. And this wasn't a pleasant dream, this was…

_RUN._

He knew he was running through doors and doors of empty halls and hopes for salvation like a maze in a video game, but hell if he cared.

_RUN!_

Arthur never looked back. Didn't want to see the mirror fiend's smirking face as it gained on him. Because he knew it was… It was _right behind_ him. He could feel its cold fingers grazing the back of his neck, scratching at the air and dust as he scrambled. It was-

CLACKLE

The door!

CLACKLE CLACKLE

It wouldn't open!

A large oval-shaped light shone beside Arthur's cheek. The mirror's light reflection. Judging by the size, it was right over his shoulder.

No. He wouldn't look at it. He wouldn't look at himself, at Alfred, again. Not with a face contorted with terror and then the glowing of life disappearing in his eyes.

A freezing hand fingered his shoulder and all his senses heightened.

The being slowly turned him around…

…Pure darkness until his sight cleared up. Smell returned and there was a scent of burning gas. He blinked several times until he was sure he had gripped consciousness.

And…he was greeted with a blushing girl, cleavage taunting.

Not bad, old man. Not bad.

"Um, _Herr_?" The young woman shook his shoulder again from the driver's seat. "Um, we're here."

"Hm? Where?"

"The Swiss National Park, sir, just like you wanted." She seemed a bit annoyed at having driven so long for this stranger only for him to forget so easily.

England looked away embarrassed. "Oh yes. Thank you."

He looked outside of the car window. It was quite dark. How long had he been out for? He asked the taxi-girl.

"You went out like a light a couple hours ago. You seemed peaceful, so I didn't stir you." Ah, there's the blush again.

"Mm. Thanks. How much?" England readied his wallet as she mumbled the price. Must have been something hefty for the girl to be so awkward about it, but England wouldn't know; this was Switzerland's money he was handing her.

He stepped out of the taxi.

"Have a safe night."

"You too, ma'am."

"_Au revoir._"

She left him at the park though it was a bit late for a picnic. Oh well, that was America's fault anyway for making it so damn far away from the hotel. I mean, _six hours_? Good grief…

England glanced around.

"Damn." America never mentioned where exactly in the park to meet him though, even if he did let England have that important detail, it wasn't like he could _find_ it by name. Had he planned for something so late? He enjoyed being in the sun, that golden boy, but he'd invented places like Las Vegas so he wouldn't put it past him.

England embarrassingly asked around. Whatever compelled the wanderers of Switzerland's park to know French over German-Romanian-whatever was beyond him. His lack of an accent probably reflected poorly on his nature…

It wasn't until much later, many aggravating minutes later, that England finally heard the first sign of a real idiot.

"Hahaha! I win a free internet!"

_Americaaaa_…

He was on the other side of the bush, and with ninja skills honed beside Japan, England straggled through.

"Americaaaa…"

"Haaaah?" drawled out America, mimicking England, spotting the elder country across the way. "Iggy! Why so serious~ And late!"

"Because of you, you dolt!" England began to stomp towards America, definitely not about to hold back. "Why didn't you tell me where it was!-?"

"I told you, old man!"

"Then why didn't you tell me how to get here!-?"

"Cuz things are more fun that way!"

_This guy…_

"Why do you have to be so INFURIATING?" the Brit screamed.

"Because you're so easy to irritate slash infuriate.~"

England stopped stomping. Alright. That was it. He wanted nothing to do with this personification. This…

"Y-You know what…"

"Whaaaaaat?" America cooed, casually walking up to England, closing the distance he was too pissed to close himself.

"I-I can't believe I allowed myself to be sucked into your idiotic games! Just, just…go die in a hole!"

"Oh, come on, Iggy-"

"Oh, COME OFF, A-me-ri-ca! How many times have I told you NOT to call me that! Bloody-!"

America seemed to finally get it, what with the widening of realization in his eyes. England could smirk at the man if it was only that. But it wasn't.

Bloody…

Bloody…

Bloody…Goddamn hell.

From the side of that American's head, wrapping around his face and clouding his senses was a deep red substance that even countries shouldn't see so much of in a single day.

Blood. It had to be.

And that impossibly strong superpower crumpled to the ground as if he didn't have any bones in his body.

Texas had escaped serious injury, though Nantucket looked rather sad, and-

He shouldn't even think such idle thoughts!

But he was. Anything to distract him.

Anything to distract him from an Alfred covered in blood and the light fading in his eyes.

Arthur knelt and closed the distance between them at last. He swept him into his arms and whispered a prayer loud enough only for them two. The Dark Arts wouldn't save him here. He needed some White Magic. He needed a miracle.

The ambulance came to pick him up rather quickly and Arthur stayed by his side. They questioned him like security would at an airport station, and he recited a fake scenario without batting an eye.

Arthur held the American's hand tight as Alfred's head rocked side to side on the gurney.

_No, no, no, Iggy! It's just the park! We'll have fun!_

~()~

**A/N** - XD That's right guys. I FINISHED it. (Although I've no idea when I started it...) So if you guys arse me enough with reviews, I'll totally update. XP This one, I'm kinda sorta happy how the chappy turned out. It has mixed feelings. *tilts head* Like...I overused something. *meows* Or that it was too obvious or too hard to tell what was going on kinda thing... *sigh* Anyway, reviews of any sort are appreciated. Laterz.

~TMRomance


	8. If Anything, Stay With Me

~~~(CH8_If Anything, Stay With Me)~~~

Evening found Arthur sitting on a chair at Alfred's bedside, waiting. As the nurse eyed the American's vital signs, Arthur waited. He waited as if he wasn't dying inside.

"_Herr_ Kirkland?" He looked her way. "Do you want me to prepare a bed for you?"

"No," he replied with a sigh. "I'll be fine."

She nodded and was about to leave until Arthur called her back again. "But, uh, do bring back a blanket." He looked worriedly at the secret nation lying asleep on the hospital bed. "I think he's cold."

She smiled, nodded once more, and left.

It was a very dark and quiet evening Arthur found in Geneva's University Hospital. And all he'd had for entertainment since Alfred's accident about six hours ago (or less, he wasn't sure, it felt like forever) were his own thoughts. That, and the American's face and his hair, and his disposition, and everything. He had almost missed those features.

What else about this fool had him hooked? Because, one doesn't find oneself feeling happy by just the mention of a certain someone's name or the thought of them without much reason. And he did feel that way when it came to Alfred. It was the same as leaving Europe to visit him – he was always happier with _him._ And he could admit that. Albeit, only to himself, but he wasn't impossibly in denial.

So these dreams he'd been having…about the death of Alfred… Was it really too cliché to buy? That he had been so terrorized by those nightmares that he couldn't put up that front for Alfred so easily anymore? Even if he acted like some lame school girl, that was what was happening. But the real question was why?

This wasn't a dream.

And he was disappointed.

He was actually disappointed.

He'd been expecting Alfred to die in a more dramatic way. It was just most likely by now, after he'd seen something like a precursor for it three or four so times – any time he was near him, in fact. He'd started to expect those fake dreams.

But disappointment?

Absentmindedly, Arthur brushed the bangs that hung over Alfred's face to the side. Well, it wasn't like he had been doing a good job of avoiding him. It was just that earlier today, he'd been in a blitz panic about everything, and now that he'd had time to think it over…

Well, now that he'd had time to think it over…

Actually, he had spent most of that time picturing what could have happened if he came straight out and said it. 'What was annoying Iggy.' A decision he was regretting, I mean, just look what happened!

Alfred wore a thick bandage over his head.

He got hurt.

Arthur kissed the lad's forehead even more absentmindedly than when he was a child, and stared into that grown-up face of his.

Yet he was _dis-ap-point-ed?_ He didn't really want him to die, but…Which is it!-?

Arthur took in some deep breaths.

No no no. He could do it. He could take this quiet moment here in Switzerland's hospital and logically figure out why he had been so 'manga school girly' about it (Japan's description; not his) and why he had fallen for this chicanery of the mind every time.

He stared deeply into those limitless-sky eyes and waited anxiously for the answer to just pop out of them there, like every kind of horror film Alfred had made. But he wouldn't be receiving any answers. That didn't mean they didn't help calm him. In fact – as he gazed at his smiling reflection in the man's eyes – he could swear that amusement was twinkling in them, and-

Wait.

…

Arthur's face fell.

Alfred laughed.

The room's temperature drastically shot up.

Arthur couldn't believe the situation, staring shamelessly into the American's eyes for only God knows how long.

"I-Iggy," the aforementioned American coughed out, by laughter and not by injury, "what made you so infatuated with my eyes?"

_Hooo.~ Big word.~_

"Nothing," he pouted, and it only took him a record-breaking two seconds for him to realize that that was what Japan considered a 'school girl move'. Damn it. The record really didn't even mean anything if he still did those things.

"Actually…" Arthur's tone was all it took to catch Alfred's attention. He sat up in bed for this one, his eyes widening and face leaning in, genuinely interested.

"I-I…" His ears twitched, he didn't blink, and everything seemed so damn loud in comparison to that Brit's small, trembling voice.

Arthur smiled suddenly.

"It's nothing special, just another fight with France and all, worthless garbage, it's nothing your media would be interested in anyway, so are you feeling-"

"_Please_," Alfred begged, and just as suddenly, every line of defense Arthur had – and the will to use them – shattered. Yes, earth-shattering. That was just the word.

Arthur spilt it all. Tears _and_ secrets.

And for that one night, Arthur forgot the circumstances. He forgot who Alfred was and who he was too. It was only the flow, the urgency, and the relief that mattered then.

As Alfred listened to the other man, his heart melted. This personified nation, no- this person was most powerful when he was truthful and no other historical event could begin to compare. He treasured the moment, catching his expressions and lingering on his words one by one, loving the accented lips from which they came from more and more.

And when the knife was to the Brit's neck, when all was said and done, and his whole self exposed, Alfred enveloped him. The embrace was capable of erasing his humiliation, his doubts, and his fears. It promised that everything would be alright from now on. Not quite like before, but it was fine with him. After knowing the comfort of his arms in this way, he decided he would rather risk those fears than go back to what it was like before he had stormed away from him that morning.

Couldn't he tell him that he loved him now?

For once in his life, couldn't he share these feelings with someone?

Logically, it wasn't safe and sure.

But to hell with it all, it would be worth it.

~()~

**A/N – **XD Yes. The idea is that after the last sentence, England told him he loved him. X3

So, England told him about the nightmares, he told him the complete truth and was completely honest for once (*le gasp* Not being tsundere!) and all America did was hug him. England didn't know if that was just his easy way of getting out of the awkward moment if he had nothing smarter to say, but he didn't care. He preferred this resolve more than anything else. ~^^~

Oh, another thing, just randomly, here's the "omake" or whatever:

~(Meanwhile)~

"That. Felt. GREAT, KUMATAROU!" Canada howled cocking the paintball gun again in his hands.

"I feel empowered!" which was followed by a maniacal laugh of the sorts before he pointed said loaded gun at America's graduation picture.

"Locking on, aaaaaand…"

_He wouldn't._

"FIRE!"

BANG!

_He would!-?-!_

Feeling particularly 'gangsta', the self-proclaimed sharpshooter blew the top of the barrel of the gun, making some spare red paint fly onto the carpeted floor. "Who's smexy now, BIATCH! HAHAHAHAHA!"

Kumajirou, not Kumatarou or Kumakichi or Kamasutra (WHAT?) sighed to itself. America was due back from the hospital yesterday meaning today meaning he'll never get the place clean in time…

~(Later)~

"Yo, bro, what happened to my pad?"

"Oh, uh, um, uhhh…"

"…Paint? OMG! You were paintballshooting without me, even after our game at Swissy's National Park!-?"

"Uhhhh…"

"That's it! You and me, right now! YOUR PLACE! MWAHAHAHA!"

"Nuuuuuuuu!"

~~~(Chillax, Iggy!_END)~~~

**A/N** – XD Okay, now I'm done.

Anyway, it's been a long ride guys! It's finally the end for my first uploaded Hetalia fic. :D (Remember, "The London Tea Party" was the first written but I uploaded Out of His Mind first; I count "Out of His Mind" and "Chillax, Iggy!" as one whole fic really. XP)

Hope you guys enjoyed this! Thanks to all those loyal reviewers like (Loyal) **Cacow/Kali**, **uncloudedeyesofgreen, xNeve, Craving. for. Icecream **and… ^^; I don't have that many loyal reviewers. Craaaaab. But I'd also like to thank **Kanoi**, this clever writer who helped me in beta-ing this last chappy. Love you guys! ^^~

A-NY-WAY. Love you all, thanks for sticking around and reading and I hope my work has made an impact on you!

Please and Thank Yous Forever,

~TMRomance


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